An Alternate Reality
by Hermiones Quill 94
Summary: Harry walks into the forest to die, meets Voldemort and doesn't defend himself. When he wakes he's no longer in the forest. Magic doesn't exist, or does it? Dumbledore's plan has backfired again. What went wrong? What is real and what is dreams? R and R x
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. Welcome to "An alternate reality! :D Hope you enjoy! :D x**

"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the spitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting. Everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting, and Harry thought inexplicably of Ginny, and her blazing look, and the feel of her lips on his –

Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear –

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

XXX

Chapter one – waking up

He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too.

Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he wasn't really alone. Something not too far away was beeping.

It was beeping quite loudly actually.

Harry, ignoring the beeping, dipped into his memory of the events, which had lead to him being here. He had been in a forest. There had been a man, unlike any other man. This man had red, gleaming eyes and a flat, snake-like nose. The man raised his wand. Harry had heard no words, but remembered a flash of green light and then falling into nothingness.

Pulling out of the memory and fearing what he would see, Harry pried open his eyes. Above him a pale silvery something was shining. He did not have his glasses. Harry frowned. His brain told him this was a snitch, a magical, flying ball used in the game of Quidditch, but it couldn't be.

Harry shook his head and raised an arm to grope for his glasses and wand. A hand pushed the cold frame of his glasses into his hand. His wand was not returned, but then again, Harry had not expected the enemy to give his wand back so easily.

"There you go, son." A voice said. Pain lashed at Harry's chest. His parents were dead. The person who spoke couldn't be his father. Harry shook himself. They've been dead for a long time, he told himself. The stone only brought back memories of them! They're dead and gone and no spell will bring them back!

Instead of demanding who this person was, Harry asked, "Where am I?" He shoved his glasses onto the end of his nose and glanced around. Everything was clean and white. He was in a bed. How strange. Even stranger was the fact that the beeping was a muggle heart monitor.

"You're in hospital, son. Had a nasty car crash. You'll be okay though." The voice, which belonged to a tall, lean man with white blonde hair, told Harry. Harry frowned. This man looked familiar, yet altered.

"Who are you?" Harry now asked. Cool, grey eyes looked down at him. Harry knew the answer before the man spoke.

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." A memory flew in front of Harry's eyes. It was the memory of an eleven-year-old boy saying those exact words in introduction on a train called the Hogwarts Express. "I'm your doctor. Do you know who you are?" Asked the adult version of that boy. This puzzled Harry. Draco had not been a doctor. Was this a trick made up by Voldemort to disable Harry so that he could take over Hogwarts?

"Harry Potter." Harry answered, confused.

"Good," 'Dr' Malfoy wrote something on a piece of paper attatched to a clipboard. "And, how old are you?"

Harry strained his memories. "Seventeen?" It came out as a question.

"Yes. Very good." 'Dr' Malfoy glanced up and understanding clouded his face. "I expect you've got a bit of a headache. Is your head a bit fuzzy?" He asked.

Harry nodded. He did have a headache, but his brain wasn't fuzzy. The longer Harry thought the more things he remembered. Harry, realising what Malfoy had said, sat up quickly. 'Dr' Malfoy pushed him down again.

"Woah, son. Where are you going?"

"Did you say my parents died in a car crash?" Harry demanded.

"Yes." Malfoy returned, clearly confused.

"Liar! Your _master_," Harry sneered the word, "Lord Voldemort, murdered them! What game are you playing?" Harry demanded.

"Lord Voldemort? No, the head doctor is Dr Nichols. Did you say murder? Do you remember something different then?" Malfoy asked, intrigued. The doctor wondered if he should call the police. Maybe the car accident had been something more sinister.

"What are you talking about? My parents died when I was one! All I remember is green light and a high laugh! Except when I get near dementors. Then I hear more." Harry shivered.

"Dementors?"

"You know what they are! Stop fooling around. Where's my wand?" Harry demanded, forcing himself into a sitting position and glancing around wildly.

"Wand?"

"Yeah, as in magic wand! What have you done with it?"

"Son, I think the crash has affected your brain. You do have a nasty cut on your forehead!" Malfoy explained. 'Dr' Malfoy then left, shaking his head and repeating the word mad. Harry sat in the tangle of sheets trying to work out where his wand would be.

Only moments after the 'doctor' had left a family of three entered the room.

"Harry, dear. Are you okay?" The woman asked. She had short, brown hair and was immaculately dressed. Beside her stood a plump, blond man with a red face and a moustache. His aunt and uncle, Harry recalled. The third person, a boy of his own age stood behind his parents a little. Harry recoiled into the bed sheets a little. They would not be pleased to see him.

"Yes, aunt Petunia." Harry answered mechanically in the polite, indifferent voice he had always used.

"Good." Uncle Vernon growled, but the tone was not the unpleasant tone that Harry's memories were showing him.

Harry was confused.

"Er, Harry dear." Aunt Petunia ventured, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Do you, do you remember w-what happened to your parents?" She asked, her eyes shining. Uncle Vernon averted his eyes and coughed gruffly. What was she on about? Did she expect him to believe the cock-and-bull story about the car crash, even when Hagrid had denied it? They had obviously fed this story to the doctor, who obviously wasn't the same Draco Malfoy, despite the similarities.

Harry thought. Anger welled up inside him at what Voldemort had done. He nodded and closed his eyes to fight the tears that welled up in his bright green eyes as he thought of his parents.

"Here." Aunt Petunia said. Harry opened his eyes and saw in her hands a photo of his parents. It was a photo of them dancing in an autumn street, but it didn't move like the one in his memory did.

"Thanks." Harry said all the same. This was kindness and pity he had not expected.

Harry had no clue what was going on. The Dursleys were here and reminding him of childhood experiences that he did not remember.

He remembered a castle with a lake, a common room laden with red and gold banners, his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and his wand. He remembered his wand. Holly and phoenix feather. He remembered his mortal enemy's wand shared the same core. Why did he have these memories if magic was not real?

A memory told him that his aunt and uncle did not like him asking questions, but he had to voice what was going on inside his head. He related some of his memories to Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon. Dudley was gaping at Harry's head and his mouth opened and closed like that of a fish.

When he had finished, uncle Vernon announced, "Preposterous! That knock on the head has affected your brain." Uncle Vernon then ruffled Harry's already messy hair.

Aunt Petunia called for a doctor who came to give Harry a sedative.

"I'm not mad! And I don't need that!" Harry directed at the nurse as she brought the needle close to his forearm.

"Course not, dearie. Just lie still." She comforted, but Harry grew more and more enraged and frustrated. Aunt Petunia burst into tears, something that Harry had not expected since his as his memories told him that she hated, or at least disliked, him.

"I'm not mad, I tell you!" He shouted. He continued to protest until blackness enveloped him again.

The last thing he thought before the world went black was:

I'm not mad! Am I?

**Please Review :D x**


	2. Chapter 2

**THANKS for the reviews people! They make me happy! Looks like Sundays are going to be my update day :) Chapter two...here we come...**

Chapter two – Number Four, Privet Drive

Several days later Harry was driven back to number four, Privet Drive. His head no longer hurt, but, then again, he had been so filled up with drugs to control his "madness" he wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't feel anything right now.

Harry had decided that the best thing to do would be to forget about the magical world for the moment and play along with this scheme. He could hear Hermione, in his head, saying, "Stay calm and think this through logically. The answer will come soon enough, meanwhile, I'll consult a book!"

Harry had woken to see the room, his room, at number four, but it was different in several ways.

The bed, desk, nightstand, window, bookcase, and cupboard were the same. It was the same cupboard he had shut Dobby inside when he had come with a mysterious warning. Yet what was on and inside of these items was different.

The room was painted a calming shade of yellow and the window was hung with cream curtains, which was much nicer than he recalled. He was sure the room had been a dirty white and had the remains of the bars in the window. Lining the bookshelf were books on sports, mixed in were a few fantasy novels. Not a single book on broomsticks or finding crumple-horned snorklacks. On a shelf above his desk were several trophies, mostly for football, but one was even for writing skill. Sitting on his desk was a computer like Dudley had. Hanging from the desk chair was a schoolbag loaded with textbooks on mundane subjects like maths and literature.

There was no trunk or birdcage anywhere to be seen. Of course not, Harry had thought on awakening, the trunk will have been disposed of by Aunt Petunia, the cage was lost in my escape from here last summer and my books are all in Hermione's beaded, purple bag, wherever that is now.

The room was also cleaner than he had ever seen it. It looked as if the book had only just been placed on the shelves and the bed only just made up. The room smelt faintly of fresh paint. Aunt Petunia had walked him to the door and told that this was where he would be staying. He had thought it strange seeing as he had slept in this bedroom in the summer holidays every year since he had turned eleven.

Harry looked around at the room, searching for any clue that he had once had his magical possessions in here. He lifted the loose floorboard. There were no remains of cakes from the summers of starvation, there were no feather quill or textbook and there were no letters from Ron and Hermione. Of course not. He had cleared everything out when he knew he was leaving.

Harry fell onto his bed and sighed.

It appeared to him that he was in a really realistic, if somewhat unbelievable dream – as if the Dursleys would ever be nice to him! It was either that or this was some trick by Voldemort. Perhaps his mother's charm had still been in effect and had simply transported him to an alternative universe where he was a muggle, but at least safe from danger.

Harry rolled over, slipped off his glasses and pulled the blanket over him. Turning out the light he thought to himself that whatever was going on, the best thing to do would be to go with it and see where it took him.

XXX

Two weeks later.

"Harry! Dudley! C'mon! You're going to be late for school!" Aunt Petunia's voice interrupted Harry's dream. It had been a good dream too; he had dreamt about flying on a broom again, over the city of London.

He opened his eyes to find himself, not airborne, but in his bed. Groaning, he pulled himself up and began to dress. This was his first day at a muggle school since his primary days, but the Dursleys were insisting he had been going to Smeltings with Dudley for the past six years. They still maintained that Harry had been in a car crash a little over two weeks ago and not off fighting The Dark Lord.

Harry pulled on the ridiculous uniform of maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers and of course, the flat straw hat. Harry distinctly remembered stifling laughter at this uniform when it had been paraded round the room the summer before Harry went to Hogwarts.

Finally dressed and ready, Harry trudged down the stairs. Dudley was just finishing breakfast. Harry glanced at his watch and, seeing he had practically no time, grabbed a slice of toast to eat on the way.

"You want to drive today, Harry?" Dudley asked as they grabbed their bags and headed down the hallway, with Petunia hot on their heels. Dudley kissed his mother and exited the house. Petunia kissed Harry and whispered in his ear to stay for a moment – she needed to talk to him.

"Nah, that's okay Dudley. You drive." This was not out of politeness – Harry simply didn't know how to drive!

"What is it, aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, glancing back at her. She was slightly tearful.

"Don't let the boys bully you today. I'm sure they won't because you are so popular at school, but you're likely to be sensitive right now…Here you go, Harry. Lily, your mum, would have…would have wanted you to have it. It was James'." With this Petunia handed Harry a box. Dudley beeped the horn of his BMW.

"Thanks. Got to go, bye." Harry rushed, permitting his aunt to kiss his cheek, something he was positive she had never done before.

"Jeez, dude. You're so slow!" Dudley grumbled, jokingly, as Harry leapt into the car. Dudley reversed out of the driveway.

As the car passed through the residential parts of Little Whinging, headed for Smelting school, Harry thought to himself.

He was sure today was going to be awful, but he had just realised something that would surely make it even more awful. Sure he had a map and his timetable, thanks to his supposed "amnesia," so he could at least find his classes. But what was he going to do when he was there? He didn't know any maths beyond the basics, he didn't know what was required in English anymore and he most certainly didn't know French!

He appeared to be smart in this dream/world/dimension, but all he had in his head were spells and old wizard vs. goblin wars. Nothing that was likely to get him through the day.

Harry glanced down at the box his aunt had handed him. It was black velvet and very classy. He opened it. Inside was a gold chain with a charm of sorts on the bottom. It was elegant, yet manly and it seemed to suit him. The charm was lightening shaped, just like his scar, but this must have been a coincidence. Harry reached up to his forehead, and was somewhat relieved to know he still had a scar on his forehead. Irrational though his relief was, it meant there was still some link to the magical world.

They were nearly at the school, Harry realised, looking out of the window again. His gaze returned to the necklace. With a strange feeling of anxiety, he reached out a shaking finger. As soon as his finger met gold his head exploded with pain.

Before his eyes he could see a black haired baby, with green eyes, playing with his parents. He saw that child grow and play football with his dad. He saw his mum kiss and hug him. He saw his school years rush by. He saw his parents move closer to his aunt and uncle. He saw him and Dudley playing together, riding bikes, and kicking footballs. He saw his first day at Smelting. He saw everything. Even the car crash. Memories filled his head.

Which memories were real?

Harry held his head, as Dudley looked at him in concern. "You okay, mate?" He asked.

"Yeah, fine. Head hurts, that's all." Harry grunted. With effort he pulled his hand away from his overfull skull. What he wouldn't give for a pensieve right now!

Dudley gave Harry one more look of concern before hopping out of the stationary vehicle. Harry stuffed the box into his bag and hung the chain around his neck, letting it bounce on his shirt. Then, stuffing the last of his toast into his mouth, he swung his bag onto his shoulder, still puzzling over his newfound memories, and joined Dudley outside.

Together the two walked through the halls to their first lesson, maths. Luckily, Harry found he now knew odd things like differentiation and integration. He had a feeling this knowledge had come from his new memories, too.

Harry followed Dudley's large back into the classroom and took the seat next to him. Trying to adjust to his new memories, Harry didn't notice the whispers that surrounded him, or the stares he was getting, or the redheaded boy who slumped into the empty desk beside him.

Eventually, Harry's attention was taken from inside his head to the rather strict teacher who had just entered the room. Professor Snape.

Silence gripped the room. Harry gaped openly at his teacher until Snape gave him a particularly nasty glare. Then, the thing Harry expected even less than his dead potions master walking into his maths classroom, Snape gave him a sympathetic look.

Harry delved into his 'muggle memories,' as he had labelled them, again. Nope, nowhere in his muggle memories was there the memory of Snape being his maths teacher.

"Hello class. I am Professor Snape. You will address me as sir or professor at all times. I am your new maths teacher." This. Was. Absurd!

The class quickly got to work, sensing that this was not a man to mess with. Harry was in the middle of a particularly complex problem when he sensed eyes upon him. Glancing around he could see many eyes upon him. Most of them were girls. At Harry's puzzled look, Dudley whispered, "They thought you were hot before, but now you're a tragic hero – they all fancy the pants off of you."

"What about the guys?" Harry whispered back, refusing to believe that he was thought of as 'hot.'

"Probably curious, or jealous." Dudley chuckled.

However, Dudley's quiet laughter was cut off by a glare from Snape. Harry returned to his maths, ignoring the stares. Just as Harry caught his train of thought again, something hit him on the side of the head. Harry turned.

Gasp.

The paper ball thrower was a girl sitting one row to the left and one desk back from him and she was now fluttering her long eyelashes and twiddling her fingers at him with a coy smile, but that was not what made him gasp. Sitting beside Harry was none other than Ron Weasley.

"Ron!" Harry whispered urgently.

"You know my name?" He queried. Harry searched his muggle memories and saw to his disappointment that he and Ron were not friends. Saddened Harry focused on Ron again, who expectantly waited for his attention to return.

"Yeah. Er, don't worry." Harry muttered embarrassed. He'd have to become Ron's friend all over again.

When the bell rang, announcing the end of lesson, Snape announced a heavy homework load. Groaning, the class left the room. Harry was at the door when Snape called, "Wait, Potter!"

**OOH. What's going on? Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, sorry for the long time between updates. I've been busy revising because my AS exams are so so close now! :/ Anyways, I'm sure you want to read, so I'll just shut up... Enjoy X**

**Harry Potter is not mine, I'm just playing around with it! :D**

**Chapter three – all a dream?**

"Wait, Potter!"

The harsh way his name was called by the nasally voice was as familiar as the greasy curtains of hair and the emotionless black eyes.

It was Snape's being here and so very alive that convinced Harry that his 'wizarding memories' must be a dream, a very vivid dream, but a dream. How else could a man who he had seen die be here and alive enough to say to him,

"I'm sorry for your loss, Potter. I, I knew Lily. She was…a lovely person." The eyes remained expressionless, but the way the voice broke told Harry that, like the Snape in his dreams, this Snape was affected by Lily's death.

Harry escaped quickly from this difficult and highly embarrassing conversation. He passed through the rest of the day in a daze, contemplating how sixteen years had managed to fit into a dream that couldn't have lasted more than a few hours. Nor could he find an explanation as to why the dream had been all he remembered, rather than his real memories when he had been in the car crash.

Harry went to the library at lunch. Here he hid himself amongst the books in order to give himself space to think. What he had not been expecting was a brown-eyed, timid girl breaking through his revere.

"Harry? I know you don't know who I am, but I just…" The girl began from behind a curtain of very bushy brown hair, but Harry cut her off.

"Of course I know who you are! How could I not know the smartest girl in the year? Hello Hermione." He smiled at her. She looked stunned and Harry remembered he didn't talk to this girl, considered an oddity in his life, unlike the best friend she had been in his dream.

"Oh. Oh, er, thanks." She hesitantly smiled at Harry. "Well, I just wanted to say I'm sorry to hear about your parents. Lily was always nice to me when I saw her at the public library and James was…interesting." It was clear that she had disapproved of James' antics and that she had appreciated Lily. Abandoning her hesitant tone and returning to the bossy one from Harry's dream she said, "well, I really must get back to work now. Goodbye."

She turned, but paused when Harry called after her, "why don't you study here? I don't really want to be alone." Harry pulled the sympathy card. Hermione hesitated, but then sat at the quiet table tucked in a corner of the dimly lit library.

The two worked in comfortable silence until the bell rang. Startled, Hermione looked up and hurried off to her next lesson. Smiling, Harry headed to his next lesson.

He had football after school so it was late when he returned to Number 4, Privet Drive. He quietly walked through the door and dumped his bag in the hallway. The sun was setting over the roofs of the houses opposite as he closed the door. He heard voices in the kitchen. He was about to push the door aside when he heard his name. Naturally, he was curious.

"…I don't know Vernon. Harry doesn't seem to be grieving at all. And then there's this delusion about being a wizard. I'm beginning to wonder if he's mentally stable. Maybe he should see a councillor?" Petunia's voice hung in the unusually quiet kitchen.

"Petunia, dear, I'm sure he's fine. He'll be grieving in his own way, I suppose. Teenagers are always tricky when it comes to things like this. Perhaps, we ought to encourage him to write these stories of his down. It could serve as a relaxing therapeutic kind of thing – you know, like those problem pages suggest in your 'woman's weekly' mag? You're always telling me how wonderful their cures are."

"I don't know Vernon." Petunia said. Harry, bored of people questioning his sanity, decided he would do as his uncle had suggested – write the entire dream down as a kind of book. That way he'd never forget it, and after all it had been a very good dream.

Harry trotted up the stairs and flicked the switch on the wall to get his computer to load up. He was still stunned that his aunt and uncle had taken him in just like that and provided for him just as well as their own son. He supposed that his aunt had no resentment towards her sister because Lily had never been a witch.

Half an hour later, with the keys still tapping rhythmically, aunt Petunia found her nephew at his computer.

"Oh, hello Harry dear. How was practice?" She asked. The typing paused.

"Good, thanks." He smiled and returned to the keys. His aunt left him to it.

So as time went on the tales of Harry Potter, the wizard, grew. The real Harry Potter stored the dream away in his computer memory. As he typed he felt more relaxed and soon the writing became an escape from the hectic life of school, football and being a teenager.

At school Harry left his 'popular' friends and spent more time in the library with Hermione. Ron soon joined them too, so the 'golden trio' as they had been called in Harry's dream, were together again. A blonde haired, blue eyed, girl in a perpetual dream-like state joined their group. It didn't surprise Harry to discover her name was Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom joined the group too. The only one of the six who didn't join them in the library was Ron's sister.

Harry often found himself thinking of Ginny. He had enjoyed her company in his dream. It had been her he had thought of when walking to his death in the Forbidden Forest. He often wondered if they would be together in real life as well, and not just in his dreams.

Life sped along merrily for Harry, but as time passed on Harry had an increasing feeling of apprehension. It was like the feeling one gets when they've forgotten something important, but cannot remember what it is. If only he had a rememberall.

Late at night Harry would hold the lightening shaped charm in the palm of his hand. Every time he touched it he felt as if the magical world were at his fingertips and that if he chose he could be transported back into his dream, leaving mundane routine behind. He often wondered if that had been his reality and if this were the dream.

How does anyone know the difference between dreams and reality?

**Well? Hehe, please review. xxx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone. Thanks for the reviews. Here's the next chapter. Unfortunately this story may be taking a short break in the month of May because of exams and a surprise :D Hope you'll stick with me...well, read and review x**

Chapter four – a world of mystery

He was walking through a dark forest. He knew this path. He knew what he was going to do next. He took a golden, spherical object from the pouch around his neck. A snitch. The snitch. He pressed the cold metal to his lips and muttered the magic words. The shell broke open.

Taking the cracked, black stone in his hands he turned it three times. He had closed his eyes in concentration. He opened them again. There were his mother and father, but Sirius and Remus didn't join them this time.

The faded grey imprints of his parents were wearing muggle clothing. James' glasses were askew. Both of them were bloodstained, splashes of it covered their clothes and a trickle of the liquid flowed from Lily's hairline.

"NO!" Harry screamed.

"Harry? Wake up!" The two gory figures moved towards Harry. Their eyes were dull and lifeless. Lily's hand reached out to touch Harry.

"Ahhhhh!" Harry bolted upright, breathing heavily through his nose. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Gradually, Harry's breathing returned to normal.

He looked around and saw Dudley perched on the edge of his bed.

"Hey Harry. You alright?" He asked.

"Yeah, Big D, I'm fine." Harry shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

Dudley was peering at the computer screen.

"This is good you know. You should have it published." Dudley commented.

"Nah, it's not good. You should probably stop reading it before you think I'm insane." Harry suggested. Dudley had found the transcripts of the dream Harry had had. He was reading it hungrily, his piggy eyes flickering across the screen at high speed. Harry decided to go get breakfast and leave Dudley to it.

After a breakfast of toast and raspberry jam (Dumbledore's favourite, Harry noted mentally), Harry returned to his room to find Dudley still reading the screen avidly.

"Dud, give it a break. You skipped breakfast!" Harry complained, exasperated.

Still Dudley did not move. Dudley never skipped breakfast! Something was wrong!

"Come on, Dud, what's it gonna take to get you to move?" Harry puffed while trying to pull his cousin from the screen.

"Publish it and then I can read it in a book."

"But Dudley!" Harry half-shouted, frustrated. "I can't write! It was just some weird dream I had! Magic doesn't exist!" Harry complained.

Frowning, Dudley turned to Harry. "I wish it existed. I'd love to go to Hogwarts. Seeing as I'm a muggle and apparently a villain in your story can I eventually turn good and us be friends?" Dudley asked, in a very convoluted way sue to his eyes straying back to the text on the screen. Harry was stunned – that was what happened eventually.

"How'd you know that happened, Dud?" Harry asked.

"Dunno. Just something rattling around in my brain, triggered by reading this." He mused quietly. Harry considered Dudley's words. Could it be that his dream had been real and that this was a parallel universe or something? Had Voldemort's curse caused him to be transported somewhere else? Scientists were discussing possibilities like this everyday.

Harry gave up the attempt to move his cousin and mopped his sweaty brow. He really needed to get into shape or Dudley had to lose some weight.

Absentmindedly, Harry fingered the lightening bolt charm and then felt his scar. Shivers ran up and down his spine. The air felt suddenly cold. He felt as if he could open up a portal and step back into the magical world. Yet, he felt he had some purpose in being transported here. He was confused.

That night Harry tossed and turned, imagining whispers and flashes of light. Eventually he fell into a fitful slumber.

"Harry." A voice whispered close by.

"Harry." Again it occurred.

"Wake up!" The voice demanded. Not now! Harry thought impatiently. He was tired and wanted to sleep.

"You need to know this." The voice told him, mysteriously.

Irked Harry opened his eyes to find himself in a meadow, filled with wild flowers.

"What?" He asked angrily, unable to find the source of the voice.

"You cannot see me because I am a part of you."

"That makes no sense." Harry told the voice. What was this, some kind of conscience?

"You will wish I were your conscience."

"What do you want?" Harry demanded, still annoyed. In his heart Harry felt the first fluttering of fear. This voice was like an ice cold shower washing over him and it sounded hauntingly familiar.

"I? Wouldn't it be better to ask what I am first?" The voice asked.

"Fine. What are you?" Harry asked, attempting bravado. He longed for a wand.

"Sixteen years ago a dark wizard under the name of Lord Voldemort entered your family's house in Godric's Hollow. The one your parents had counted as friend had betrayed you. Your wizard memories do not lie and they are not a dream. I am both friend and foe. I am both kin and mortal enemy. I shall explain." The voice muttered quickly and eagerly, as if it had been dying to share this information for a long time.

"Well that would be very helpful, now wouldn't it?" Harry retorted sarcastically.

"Do not take that tone with me! I have the power to destroy both of us! Now listen!" The voice commanded. Harry listened intently. "Good. When Lord Voldemort failed to kill you, a mere baby, some of his power was transferred to you. You know this. You also know that a small piece of his soul latched into you. You needed to die. You did not." The voice hung in the air, mysteriously.

The meadow in which Harry sat was very pretty and warm sunlight illuminated the place. What a contrast between the place and the voice.

"I'm really quite glad about that actually." Harry said.

"You shouldn't be!" The voice growled. "While you and I live, Voldemort cannot die." The voice reminded. Cold, heart-breaking fear plunged the meadow into darkness and ruin. The grass shrivelled and the sun disappeared. The warmth was replaced by cold. The flowers became black and dead.

"You're the piece of his soul!" Harry realised. "You're inside me!" Harry scratched at his body as if he could pull the piece of soul out. He ripped at his hair, like a crazed animal, but none of it made a difference; he could still hear the high, cold cackle in his head.

"Yes. I am. Now be still and silent!" The voice instructed. Harry did not want to obey, but couldn't help it. Some force bound him to be still and took away his voice. "I am the only remaining good part of Tom Riddle's soul." Harry scoffed. "I know it is hard to believe, but even Tom Riddle had childhood innocence deep down. Now, the reason Dumbledore's plan failed was because he did not realise that I am the good part of his soul." The voice explained.

Harry was thinking to himself that this piece of soul didn't really sound all that good and loving to him, when his hand came up and slapped him round the face. Great – the soul could control his body too.

"So how can I get rid of Voldemort?" Harry asked, depressed.

"The fool Dumbledore said Voldemort must be the one to kill you, but he was wrong. You must be the one to destroy us both." The voice told Harry.

Harry felt wetness in his eyes. He had known the wizard memories were too real to be a dream. He had lived, yet again, only to be told that he must die...it just wasn't fair.

"As time passes in this muggle world you will learn how I am to be destroyed through your own destruction. When the time comes, you must do it, or Lord Voldemort will live on, immortal and more dangerous than ever." The voice continued.

"Why are you telling me this? Why are you helping?" Harry wondered out loud to the voice.

"Because I am the tiniest trace of goodness in Voldemort. Everyone is made of good and evil. Everyone can love and hate. This is because of the soul. There are good parts and bad parts to every soul." It sounded to Harry as if this soul was talking to him as if he were a child. "Dumbledore is right; Voldemort cannot love. He cannot love because he lost me." The soul told Harry.

This was the weirdest thing Harry had ever heard of. The voice gave another high, cold cackle at this thought.

"I will give you one more clue and then it is up to you!" The voice said. "You must find a way to destroy me through pure, wholesome love. The sacrifice you make must be made of love." The voice sounded bitter.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Harry asked.

"Because I couldn't warn you right under the nose of Voldemort himself!" The voice made this sound so obvious that Harry was stunned into silence for a few moments.

Harry had a million more questions to ask the voice, but he felt himself spinning round and round, higher and higher. He was fast leaving the once beautiful meadow. The dead grass and flowers below him disappeared into the darkness and Harry felt himself land on something solid.

It was a few minutes before he dared to open his eyes. Eventually he opened them to find himself back in his room and Dudley snoring with his head on the keyboard. Harry's story had not foretold this!

**Thanks for reading. you know what to do, so hit that little button and review! (Oh dear, I've started thinking in rhymes...) xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome back. Enjoy.**

Chapter five – unravelling

Harry was quite sure that the meadow and the voice had been real. However, if he decided to question it, he could simply look down at his chest and arms – angry, red scratches covered the skin. Harry had to wear a long shirt to cover the scratches.

Monday morning brought with it the dull routines of school. Harry spoke to Hermione and Ron, but did not dare mention the meadow. Who was there that he could talk to?

No one. A voice in his head echoed.

That was one of the most annoying things that happened since the meadow. The voice chose to reappear at inconvenient times and often Harry would appear even more deranged by talking to himself.

That evening Harry mooched around the house doing odd bits of homework and the chores his aunt had asked him to do. Dudley ambled around, licking an ice cream and attempting to do the ironing. His sticky fingers meant he was going backwards rather than forwards. When Harry pointed this out, Dudley smacked his forehead, dumped the ice cream and put all the laundry back in the wash.

"That's it! I'm going on a diet!" He roared. "Food's such a problem these days. It's more trouble than it's worth!" Harry had heard Dudley vow this many, many times, but he had never managed it.

Harry's mouth fell open as Dudley ran to the fridge as fast as his hammy legs could carry him and then emptied it of chocolate, ice cream, basically anything that had sugar or fat. Then he proceeded to the cupboards. The upshot was that the cupboards were pretty bare.

"Just popping round to the supermarket." He called, cheerily, swiping his keys off the kitchen table. Harry watched him go, flabbergasted.

Harry trudged up the stairs, too shocked to work any more. He collapsed onto his bed and stared up at the plain, blank canvass that was the ceiling.

Work on the story. The voice told him. Harry sighed and trudged over to his computer, wriggling the mouse to make it wake up. He was about to write his wizard form's escape from the Burrow. He strained his memory, but the vision was hazy. What had happened?

Harry slammed his forehead onto the keyboard, producing mindless, meaningless sentences of random letters. He turned his head to the side, causing more gibberish, and glanced out his window.

Night was drawing in. The stars were peeping between clouds and a milky crescent moon hung above the house.

Harry's eyes caught movement. Snow white movement. A snowy owl, very familiar to Harry fluttered onto the window ledge and promptly hopped in through the open window.

"Hedwig?" Harry asked.

The owl nibbled Harry's fingers. Memories came flashing back and Harry felt a pang of guilt as he remembered what was about to happen to the bird.

"Sorry, Hedwig." The amber eyes blinked up at the mop of black hair as Harry turned back to the keyboard.

After a few minutes of frantic typing Harry had finished the escape scene. He turned back to his bed to talk to Hedwig, but found nothing but a single solitary white feather.

"Wha-?" Harry asked the thin air.

Make the connection, the voice demanded.

"What connection?"

Gosh, you're dim.

"Wow, are you sure you're the nice part of Voldemort's soul?" Harry asked, snappishly.

Moron. Read what you just wrote. Look at what happened to the bird.

Harry read the flickering text on the computer screen and then stroked the solitary white feather.

Something clicked.

Harry erased the part where Hedwig died and wrote that she came soaring back to Privet Drive.

Harry closed his eyes as if making a wish and then turned to the windowsill.

There she was.

Harry laughed and stroked the bird.

"So all I have to do is rewrite the story with no Voldemort in?" Harry asked.

Imbecile.

"What? I think it's a good idea. Then I'd have my parents, Hedwig and be magical again."

You have to write your past exactly as it was.

"Why?" Harry whined like a small child refused a treat.

Because it has already happened and changing it may mean you never become friends with Dobby, Hermione or Ron. You cannot mess with the past. Remember what Hermione told you about the time turners?

An echo of Hermione's voice came back. "Time's a powerful thing, Harry." Then the ghastly information about other wizards who'd messed with time came flooding back.

"At least we get a goodbye this time, Hedwig." Harry said to his first friend. The owl blinked as if she understood and then nibbled Harry's ear. He rewrote her tragic death one last time and she was gone.

There were so many things that Harry now knew he could change, so many things he wanted to change, but he knew he couldn't. He struggled with temptation and the pain of grief while he wrote out the death of Mad-eye and when he later wrote the deaths of Lupin, Tonks, Colin Creevy, Dobby and the many nameless, faceless people that Voldemort slaughtered.

Harry fell exhausted into bed that night, puzzling to himself how to end the book. It was two am and Harry had skipped dinner to continue writing. He had reached his walk into the forest, but what came next was a mystery to him.

The last thing Harry was conscious of was the voice of Voldemort's soul whispering to him, as if from a distance, "Dream it."

**Well, please, please, please review - this may be the last chapter for a while because of another story coming out - I'll post an AN on this story so you know what it's called. Well, peace out xx**


	6. AN Other story

Sorry this is just an AN not a chapter, but my new story is up – Lily Evans: a life story – it was a birthday present for a friend, so please, please, please check it out. Reviews very much appreciated! Also, as I've pre-written quite a lot of it that story shall continue to be updated through the exam period. My last exam is 6th of June but I have interviews and university open days, and OF COURSE the Harry Potter premier - 7th July! So I'll be really busy and this story may be sidelined for a while, but don't fear, I will return! Anyway, check out the other story – I think it's actually better than this one...

/s/6981512/1/Lily_Evans_a_life_story

(with www dot fanfiction dot net in front because this refuses to let me put web addresses in here :/ )

Just copy and paste the above into your web browser thingamabob :D

CHECK IT OUT! Thank you xxx


	7. Impotant notice

**Hello readers!**

**Sorry this is not an update. **

**I know I have abandoned this story for far too long! Sorry everyone, but I'm so caught up in my other story - Lily Evans: A life story.**

**I'm thinking of either putting this on the shelf for a while or offering it to one of you to finish/help me finish - kind of a colab thing? I have a rough few chapters, but just don't have the time to write it by myself with my other story, UCAS, EPQ etc.**

**Thanks, and let me know - just PM me.**

**Don't forget to check out the other story! Just follow the link on my profile!**

**Hermione at heart 94 xx**


	8. UPDATE

HEY GUYS...JUST TO LET YOU ALL KNOW, MY PEN NAME HAS CHANGED...I AM NOW HermionesQuill94. Thanks :)

~ Hermione at heart 94/ Hermiones Quill 94

P.S. Sorry I have been absent from the fanfiction world, but I'm up to my neck in school, exams and other...stuff...yeah...but will be back in about 2 months, hopefully to stay! PLUS, I now have a twitter dedicated to my writings, so if you want to follow me on there so you can be kept up to date on what's going on with my drabbles, then go ahead: Name is EleanorStringer name is Eleanor Stringer (oh the creativity)

HQ94


	9. AN

**ATTENTION:**

**is "purging" their database of stories. Any stories with song lyrics, violence or graphic descriptions will be removed and lost forever.**

**If you're against this, please sign the petition below:**

**The link is www . change (dot org) / petitions/ fanfiction-net -stop-the-destruction-of-fanfiction-net?utm_campaign= friend_inviter_modal&utm_medium=facebook&utm_source= share_petition (no spaces)**

**And share it with your friends, readers, favourite authors etc.**

**Thank you**

**~ Hermione's Quill 94**


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